


Off-roading in Y90

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [30]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: The team begins working their way to Odense, but there are delays.
Series: Mikkel's Story [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Off-roading in Y90

In one sense, it was easier to move in the cities than in the countryside. There were more grosslings in a city but also many streets, so if one was blocked, there was usually one nearby that could be used, but this was not so in the countryside.

On that first day, this was not too much of a problem. They encountered a place where the road was blocked by fallen trees, but Lalli, who seemed to understand precisely the dimensions and capabilities of their tank, had blazed a trail that wound between trees, sometimes with mere centimeters to spare, taking them safely back to the relatively clear road. Mikkel and Emil, seeing their opportunity, followed behind the tank picking up fallen branches for fuel, with Sigrun, kitten on her shoulder and rifle in hand, accompanying them as guard.

Back on the road again with a treeless, marshy area to their left, Sigrun commented, “I'm beginning to get creeped out by that soulless horizon over there. I heard there'd be no mountains, but I didn't expect the view to be this disturbing. I don't understand why any ancient folks chose to live in places like these.”

“Believe it or not,” Mikkel answered from his vast store of knowledge of Danish history, “flat fertile land was highly valued by many.”

“Hmph. Apparently they didn't care about how hard that is to defend.” She held up the map. “Driver, how long is this trip going to take?”

“Well, if we're lucky we can travel on the big roads most of the way, once we get to them. There's only a couple of cities that we need to drive around. And the big bridge should still be there, according to some naval sightings.”

“Sooo … you're saying it'll be a quick ride. A couple of days? Yes? No? Yes?”

“Ah … maybe? I'll do my best.”

Mikkel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Given ninety years of neglect, he doubted even the big roads would be entirely passable.

Just as twilight began to fall, they reached the campsite which the scout had chosen, and a snare with a rabbit was a welcome surprise. Although the nearby pond was frozen over, the ice was not too thick and Emil soon had a hose set up to refill the tank's water supply while Mikkel prepared a better supper than they had become used to. With an abundance of both fuel and water, they took advantage of the opportunity to bathe – or rather, everyone but Lalli took advantage of the opportunity, and Lalli acquiesced in a bath in exchange for a cookie from Mikkel's dwindling supply.

The second day was much harder. Several trees had fallen across the road and Lalli had been unable to find a passable route through the surrounding woods and marshes. Given a choice of either backtracking or chopping their way through, Sigrun chose to chop through. Or rather, she chose for _Mikkel_ to chop through, a process which took most of the short day. As they had only one ax, he did the chopping while Emil used their hand-saw to gather more fuel, Tuuri and Reynir made themselves useful inside the tank by washing all the bedding and preparing their meals, Sigrun sat atop the tank, rifle ready and kitten dozing in her lap, and Lalli slept off his exertions of the previous night.

The sun was high in the sky, the tank fully provisioned, and Emil standing guard, when Sigrun finally called a halt for lunch and Mikkel laid down the ax with concealed relief. Immensely strong though he was, he was not a lumberjack and chopping through tree trunks for hours had put an unaccustomed strain on his back and shoulders. Consuming the oily mess of soup in weary silence, he suddenly realized that Tuuri and Reynir were watching him anxiously. “Well done,” he stated. “You did as well as I could have done.” It was not high praise – it was impossible to truthfully offer high praise to a vegetable soup thickened with tallow and without any semblance of seasoning – but it was honest and they knew it. Both relaxed and the rest of the meal passed in companionable silence.

All too soon, the Dane pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his ax. He had to keep going lest his muscles stiffen with inactivity, and he had to – _had to_ – finish before dark so they could drive at least some way away from this location where the noise had surely alerted every grossling that there was prey available. He resumed chopping through the fallen trunks.

By late afternoon the road was clear enough for the tank to work its way past the obstructions, and Mikkel was unwontedly exhausted. As he returned to the tank, he was intercepted by Emil, who took the ax from his shoulder and directed him to the back. Too tired to object or even question, he trudged back and clambered in, finding within two buckets half-full of hot water steaming in the cold air, one soapy and the other clear, and beside them a towel, several washcloths, and his spare clothes, all freshly laundered. Pulling the door shut and latching it, he leaned against it just for a moment. Much as he wanted to lie down, the promise of being truly clean first was irresistible. Stripping off his clothes, he began a thorough sponge-bath as the tank moved on.

By the time he was dressed again, the water was mostly on the floor so he opened the back and, after a careful look around for following grosslings, swept it out with the towel, justifying this to himself with the thought that the towel would need to be laundered anyway – by him! – before it would be used again. Then he stashed the empty buckets in a cabinet so they wouldn't fly around in case of another “rough road”, bundled together the clothes and other items, and climbed out carrying them. It was tricky – in fact it was impossible – to latch the back door from the outside one-handed, so he was forced to drop the clothes, latch the door, go back for the clothes, and then jog forward to the door into the main compartment.

That door opened before he could reach it and Emil, waiting just inside, took the clothes from him before stepping out of the way. “Good job,” Sigrun called from the front, getting only a wave of vague acknowledgement before Mikkel kicked off his boots and sought the blessed comfort of his bunk. He did not throw himself wearily onto the bunk fully clad – that would set a bad example for the young people – instead he pulled off his outer garments, tossed them at the foot of the bunk as usual, climbed in, covered up … and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

> Mikkel dozed atop the sacks of grain in the back of the oxcart while his father drove the oxen. At eleven years old, Mikkel was already as tall as his father and nearly as strong, so he had loaded this cart by himself, heaving in twenty-kilo sack after twenty-kilo sack, while his father directed the loading of the other carts. The boy had been to market several times and looked forward to it again, for he chafed at the quiet life on the Madsen farm.
> 
> The cart jolted from side to side and his father was talking … no, not his father, it was his mother. But that was wrong, for she never came to market, never left the safety of the farm. And she'd never had such a villainous accent – why, she sounded like a Norwegian!

Mikkel came awake instantly and completely. The tank was moving, and Sigrun was talking to Tuuri in front. Tuuri's bunk was folded down just above him, and as he rolled over and crawled out, he saw that all the bunks were folded down and their covers in tangles. So it was morning, but how late? Standing, he automatically began making up the bunks, Sigrun's first, then Tuuri's, Reynir's, Emil's, and his own, folding up each as he finished, except his own which he left down so as to protect Lalli from being stepped on.

That done, he went forward and found only the two women. “Where are the boys?” he asked, puzzled. “And where are we? That doesn't look like a road.” Indeed, they were following a trail blazed through the woods, winding among trees.

“Emil's doing escort duty. And we're detouring. Another problem with the road.” Perceiving his dismay despite his efforts to keep his expression impassive, Sigrun went on, “It's a washed-out bridge. Nothing you can do anything about. The little mage guy found us a ford so that's where we're headed.”

“Ah. Good. Well, I'll step out a bit myself.” Suiting actions to words, he turned back to the door, but stopped as it opened. Emil and Reynir climbed in, red-faced and decorated with splashes of snow proving that escort duty had included a snowball fight or two, the kitten riding on top of Reynir's head. They both ducked away, shamefaced, at the sight of the older man, who merely chuckled and climbed out of the tank, pleased that they were interacting in a somewhat friendly fashion. He had been concerned about Emil's standoffish attitude toward Reynir.

It took all day to work their way down to the ford and back up to the road, in sum advancing less than two kilometers toward their goal of Odense. As they reached the road in the late afternoon, their captain gave a deep sigh and instructed Tuuri to stop at the next clearing she saw and count this day as lost. She herself scooped up the kitten, her rifle, and her dagger, climbed out of the tank, and disappeared into the woods. The others looked over at Mikkel as if he might understand her intent, but he could only shrug and begin organizing matters for the evening camp.

The “clearing” which their driver soon found was, Mikkel thought, actually a parking lot with a badly decayed shop of some sort at one edge. This he investigated with Emil's aid, both relieved to find it devoid of grosslings of any type. The Cleanser suggested that it should be burned down at once and, after a moment's hesitation, Mikkel agreed, thinking that if something did attack during the night, it was better not to offer any kind of shelter to it. He did not warn the other to avoid wasting matches; he did not need to. Emil could get anything at all to burn with a single match.

The shop was burning nicely and Mikkel was simmering their supper over his campfire when Sigrun returned and dropped a rabbit next to him, ducked immediately into the tank, and returned with Tuuri, who had been waiting with less and less patience for her escort to the latrine. The big Dane heaved a sigh of relief: at least he didn't have to escort her without even the kitten to assist!

One rabbit between six people and a kitten wasn't much, but they had all learned to be grateful for whatever they got, so they welcomed it gladly. Mikkel took Tuuri aside to explain his request for salt, and she promised to pass it on to Lalli before he went out scouting again.

The evening and the night were quiet, and in the morning they set forth again.

* * *

The fourth day seemed to start out better. Lalli reported, _via_ Tuuri, that the road was passable all the way to and through a small town where many buildings were in good shape, including, importantly, something that looked to him like a small library. The team responded with enthusiasm as they hadn't collected a single book since the attack of the ghosts, and it was in the back of their minds that payment for this terrible expedition critically depended on bringing back salvaged books.

They were about halfway there when the tank veered sharply to the left. “What!” Sigrun cried from the right-hand seat where she rode, and the three men playing cards in the back jumped to their feet in alarm. Even Lalli rolled out from under Mikkel's bunk and rose to a crouch, rubbing his eyes and peering about.

“I don't know – it's – I think the left tread stopped responding!” Tuuri was working the controls and had brought the tank back to face straight ahead, but her effort to move forward just caused it to turn toward the left again. “Um … go back in the back. I need some room to work.” Pulling a toolbox from its mount on the back of her seat, the Finnish mechanic lay down on her back, pulled herself under the dashboard, and began to take things apart. Sigrun retreated hastily to the back, having no desire to interfere with technological things that, to her, were just one step removed from magic.

“Mikkel, Emil, we need to secure the area. No telling how long we'll be stuck here, so you take the kitten and make the circuit. I'll get up on top again. Remember – blades before bullets!”

“What about Lalli?” Emil asked, gesturing at the scout.

“Let's leave him here for now. We can't talk to him anyway. If little fuzzy-head has to go outside to fix this, he'll be her guard. At least she can talk to him.”

With that settled, the two men grabbed the kitten, their daggers, and their respective weapons, and climbed out of the tank. Because Sigrun had gone first, she was behind the tank when they exited and so Mikkel did not see how she favored her left arm, touching the ladder with her left hand as little as possible and wincing when she finally made it to the top. She hated to be fussed over.

“Okay, based on what we saw before, the kitten seems to have a range of around twenty meters, so we'll go out about fifteen meters and make a circle. Once that circle's clear, we'll go out another fifteen. Good?”

Emil slung his rifle over his shoulder, swallowed, and nodded. Taking pity on him, Mikkel placed the kitten on the younger man's other shoulder where she made herself comfortable, purring loudly in his ear. They were none of them immune to the kitten's charms, and Emil even managed a slight smile as they set out.

They were perhaps two-thirds of the way through the first circle when the kitten abruptly stood up, hissing. Emil froze, looking over at Mikkel in alarm. Mikkel, on the other hand, studied the kitten, followed her gaze, and pointed. “That bush. It's in or behind that bush. Get ready. You go left, I'll go right.” The Swede drew his dagger, the Dane held his crowbar at the ready, and the kitten continued to hiss and spit as they approached the bush.

The grossling went for the smaller of the two of course, hitting Emil in the chest and knocking him down, sending the kitten flying. If Mikkel had been a religious man he would have prayed, but as it was, he could only direct an unspoken plea to his traitor hands: _Don't hit the kid! **Please** don't hit the kid!_

In the moments that it took him to dash to Emil's aid, however, the other had rolled over, pinning the thing under his weight, and was stabbing wildly over and over into the mess that had been its head while he cursed continuously under his breath. Mikkel almost chuckled aloud, thinking that the Swedish Cleansers had much to learn from Danish soldiers in the art of imprecation. As Emil at last got to his feet, the kitten jumped atop the mangled grossling and did a kind of war dance before leaping not to Emil's shoulder but to Mikkel's, an impressive feat for such a small cat. 

The Swede knelt by a snowdrift and began frantically scrubbing his gloves and jacket with handfuls of snow, scraping the grossling slime off of him. Seeing Mikkel's shadow as he approached, Emil looked up and asked desperately, “My hair! Mikkel, did I get that slime **in my hair**?” 

_**Yes!** Emil diving headfirst into a snowdrift! Emil running back to the tank in a panic and washing his hair all afternoon! Hilarious! … **No!** This kid – no, this man – is one of just five people that I'll be living with for weeks. Maybe months. Quite possibly for the rest of my life, or of his. I will not mock or humiliate him or any of them._ Weeks later, he was very glad of that decision. 

“No,” he answered firmly. “None in your hair, none on your face.” 

“You're not – I mean,” the other bit his lip, “you're sure?” 

Knowing that attempting to reassure him of sincerity would merely convince him that Mikkel was pranking him, the Dane instructed him, “Turn around, let me take a good look. Tilt your head back and turn around again … yes, I'm sure. None in your hair or on your face.” 

“Oh … okay.” Emil looked away, then squared his shoulders, clearly deciding to act as if he believed even if he didn't quite, and set forth again to finish their circle in silence but for the kitten's loud purr. 

As they began their second circle, Emil began to talk softly, almost to himself. “We came down to the Öresund base on the train, and we were attacked by a giant.” 

“No surprise there. That train has never made four trips in a row without an attack. Why the stubborn Swedes keep sending –” 

“We're a stubborn people,” Emil interrupted. “But the giant forced its, um, limbs into the train and some of them had viable … heads.” He swallowed and took a moment before continuing. “Most of the giant must have been smashed when we went into a tunnel but one of the heads was still alive. It … pawed at me. It had tentacles like hands … I smashed its head and killed it.” 

“Well done,” Mikkel answered politely, wondering why Emil was thinking about this now. 

“But it … it spoke to me.” Mikkel stopped, staring at him, and Emil perforce stopped too. “I know that sounds crazy, but it made this … grinding, crackling sort of noise and I thought I heard words in it. I thought it said … I thought it said, 'Help me.'” 

Mikkel didn't answer, caught in his memories of Christensen telling him not to listen to the voices in the static. _Were_ there voices in the static? Did _trolls_ make the static? 

“So, I, I, I'm not sure we should talk when we're near them. I think maybe trolls might understand us. I think maybe they're kind of still in there, somehow, suffering.” 

“You did help it,” Mikkel managed finally, the only thing he could think of to say. “You ended its suffering –” 

“Oh, I know that. I don't feel guilty. I mean, not at all.” He looked off into the distance, as if he could see the town ahead. “I don't really know why I joined the Cleansers except maybe because I'm good at starting fires … no, honestly, because I like fires. But now, now I really want to burn it all down. I don't want them to have to burn – I don't _want_ to make them suffer – but if they have to burn to end it all then I want them to burn. I want to burn them all.” 

Mikkel nodded silently. He wanted to burn it all down too. 

They finished the circle with no further grossling encounters, and found Tuuri working on the left tread while Lalli stood guard. He half-saluted them, one guard to another, as they passed, but he never looked away from the woods. 

The short day was near ended before Tuuri crawled out from under the tank, called her various guards inside, and started the tank down the road again, Lalli at her shoulder instructing her on a good campsite, though not the one he had originally picked out. Their supper was quiet and discouraged, and they were not disturbed during the night. 


End file.
